New Normal
by Geeky-DMHG-Fan
Summary: While working undercover, Hermione runs into Draco. Are they destined to continue their school-age bickering, or can something else come out of this chance encounter? DMHG Post-Hogwarts. EWE? One-shot. COMPLETE!


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

If anyone is wondering, I am still working on Leftovers. I just write very slowly and got sidetracked with this story. But at least this is finished, right? :D

Also, please forgive any mistakes. This is beta-less.

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New Normal

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Hermione Granger was no stranger to parties. As a member of the Golden Trio, she had endured her fair share of celebrations in the years after Voldemort's demise. It was not a way she would have willingly chosen to pass her time. At best, these parties were nothing more than a gathering of well-meaning strangers; at worst, a convergence of grasping social climbers. Still, she had learned to accept the role she needed to play at these events and minimize her boredom to acceptable levels.

Hermione's eyes longingly followed the champagne on the tray of a passing attendant. Typically, she would have downed a glass or two by now, but tonight was different. Hermione wasn't attending the party out of some sense of obligation. She was here on a mission.

Though she had a desk job in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, her storied spellcasting and horcrux work had recommended her for this covert operation to her boss, Sheldon Phelps. Hermione knew the particulars of this case, having dealt with the paper trail of this most elusive white-robed criminal for over a year, and so it made perfect sense that she was enlisted to help.

Still, it had been three years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and while Hermione wasn't one to back down from a challenge, she had not been able to calm the flutter of nervous energy pulsing through her body.

At least she needn't worry about living up to her famous reputation. If she failed, only her boss and a couple of coworkers would know. Thankfully, this celebration was in a foreign country, and she and Phelps were counting on the fact that she wasn't quite as famous in France as she was in England. Indeed, Phelps thought Polyjuice Potion was overkill, especially since it would need to be administered multiple times throughout the evening. Instead, they had only charmed her hair and eyes another color (black and green, respectively) and applied dramatic makeup and revealing clothing.

And so here she stood in an enormous ballroom in some French wizarding palace that looked like a mini-Versailles. Gold, silver, and crystal met her at every turn. Even the walls of the ballroom-ceiling to floor mirrors-reflected the glitz and gaudiness of the proceedings in an infinite series of sparkles.

Hermione caught her reflection in one of the mirrors and stifled a smile. But only just. By Godric, she'd never looked so sexy. She was like a Bond Girl. Or better yet, Sydney Bristow, spy extraordinaire.

Her green and silver sequined dress—provided by the department—shimmered around her like a second skin. And yet, it retained some level of modesty. There were no high slits to reveal her legs or daring cutouts that showcased her back. Even the sleeves ended demurely just below her elbows. There was, of course, the matter of the deep V in the front of the dress that nearly exposed her navel, but Hermione had charmed the material to stick to her skin. After all, it wouldn't do to cause an international incident by flashing the party attendees.

With a contented sigh, she turned away from her reflection and focused on the task at hand—namely finding Valentin Marchand. The Department of International Magical Cooperation had received a tip that the wizard would be here to sell an unknown artifact with a very troubling history of Dark Magic. They had yet to identify the potential buyer, and while Hermione was not meant to interfere, they had hoped she'd be able to catch the transaction in the act. Her memories would hopefully be used as evidence to arrest and prosecute Marchand.

Hermione reached up to delicately scratch the side of her nose, catching an older woman's eye in the process.

The lady smiled warmly at her. 'You know what that means, don't you?'

'Hmm?' Hermione said politely, though distracted.

'If your nose itches it means someone is thinking of you, and looking as you do, I wouldn't be surprised if there were more than one man here who was.'

'That's very kind of you to say,' Hermione said. Not wanting to get drawn into a conversation since she needed to be alert, she excused herself. 'It was nice meeting you, but I see my date is looking for me.'

Walking in the direction she had indicated, Hermione ambled toward a more populated area where some hors d'ouevres were laid out. Glancing quickly at what was on offer, she reached for a potato croquette. With her fingers nearly on the food, she took a peak over her left shoulder, worried that she'd somehow miss the arrival of Marchand.

A cool hand brushed against her own, and her head snapped around, causing her pendant earrings to swing against her cheek. Temporarily stunned, she made no move to remove her hand from under the long, pale fingers that covered her own.

'Pardon me,' an English-accented voice said to her right.

Her spine straightened at the familiar drawl. She hadn't heard it in a while, but after seven years at Hogwarts together, she could recognize Draco Malfoy's voice anywhere. Which probably meant he could recognize hers.

'It's alright,' she mumbled quietly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him holding the croquette out to her, but Hermione stared straight ahead. The last thing she needed was for him to identify her.

'Granger?! Is that you?!' the once deep voice sounded slightly strangled.

Bollocks!

Trying not to panic, she feigned a French accent. 'I zink you 'ave me meestaken for zomeone else.'

Malloy quickly recovered, if his laughter was any indication. ''Oh, je ne pense pas, Mademoiselle Granger.'

Hermione bit back a groan. Of course he would be fluent in French, and she knew not a lick of it.

He stepped behind her, effectively trapping her against the table. 'You seem to forget that my family is French, and I can easily discern a fake accent when I hear one,' he said, breathing down her neck like a pesky dragon.

Fine. He wanted to be difficult. Well, that was nothing new. Turning around, she ignored the sudden rush of heat that coursed over her body as it brushed up against his. She instantly dismissed the odd sensation as anger. Of course it was anger! As usual, he was being a jerk towards her. And if she had any feelings of embarrassment, well, those were perfectly justified too. The only physical contact they'd shared up to this point was her hand slapping his face. Who wouldn't flush after rubbing up against an almost stranger?

Having settled that in her mind, Hermione raised the full power of her glare at him. It was with some surprise that she found he didn't have a sneer plastered to his face. Even more surprising was how dashing he looked in his formal robes. And—would wonders never cease—he seemed taller, broader, and handsomer than the last time she'd seen him, which had been in the Ministry atrium, and only just last week. Hermione pursed her lips, trying to recall how much champagne she must have imbibed to be thinking such ridiculous thoughts. Her stomach sank as she remembered she hadn't had so much as a drop. Bugger. These musings were all her own.

Well, at least he seemed surprised too. He blinked, probably taken aback by her different eye color and makeup. His gaze finally hardened, and she felt it sweep over her body with cold calculation.

Hermione raised her chin, determined not to buckle under the scrutiny, though a tiny part wished she could cover herself. This was not how Hermione Granger normally dressed, and this made her feel oddly vulnerable. Her dress was the exact opposite of the practicality and function she valued, and her intricate hairstyle and expressive makeup were extravagances she'd never utilize in day-to-day life.

She forced her way past Malfoy, wanting to escape the forthcoming insults.

'Well, I'll be damned. Who knew that under all those shapeless robes you wear that you had a body like that?'

That was…unexpected. She had already started walking away and nearly stumbled at his touch on her shoulder.

'Always so huffy. It was intended as a compliment.'

She picked at some imaginary lint on her sleeve, not meeting his eyes. 'Yet somehow I feel demeaned and objectified.'

Malfoy let out an exasperated sigh. 'And I feel willfully misunderstood. Business as usual between us, it would seem.'

As the seconds ticked by and neither of them said anything, Hermione wracked her brain for how to extricate herself from this awkward conversation. But then Malfoy broke the stalemate. 'That dress looks magnificent on you.' He reached out a finger and touched the drop earring that dangled against the side of her neck. 'The silver and green go well with your complexion. I should make you an honorary Slytherin.'

Goosebumps erupted over her arms, and a tremor moved down her spine. She swallowed hard, but was proud at how calmly she replied, 'Will you please move on from my outfit? It's not as if I dressed myself.'

Well, she was proud until she realized what she had said. After all, why would she say such a thing? Any normal person there would surely have dressed themselves, and there was no way Malfoy would not call her on that. She had practically given away that she was undercover.

A pale eyebrow lifted in what she assumed was amusement. 'And where can I apply for the job of dressing you?'

Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop a giggle from escaping her lips. Or her hand from giving him a playful push. 'That was awful.'

'Even for me?'

'Especially for you.'

'Since when do you look down upon gainful employment?'

'Oh, is that what I'm doing? Well, I mustn't discourage you from pursuing this job, however offensive it may be. After all, who knows how long you'll be able to live off your parents' fortune?'

Expecting him to snap back at her, he slipped his hands into his pockets, taking a wide stance. 'My great-great-great grandchildren could live off my parents' fortune. And as I've nearly doubled their money since I've taken over the family business, I think I can safely say I'm doing quite well at my job. But, like any businessman, I'm always looking to diversify my skillset.' His eyes swept over her again, but instead of the trepidation it had incited early, Hermione's found herself anticipating at what he would say next.

'I think gold would suit you when you choose to go back to your normal eye and hair color.'

Hermione never got to share her clever response. It seemed to vanish the instant he brushed one of her errant curls back behind her ear.

'So what brings you to France?' he asked, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. He offered one to her, which she took, though she had to remind herself not to drink it.

'I could ask the same of you.'

Malfoy took a slow sip of champagne, and an even slower lick of his lips afterwards. Not that she was paying any attention to his mouth. 'I was invited by a potential business partner. I'm in negotiations to bring a plant to England that currently is only grown in France. If all goes to plan, I will be cultivating it on the grounds of Malfoy Manor.'

'Really?! You don't mean the chartreuse gentian, do you?' she said, instantly lamenting her show of enthusiasm as soon as it came out. But she could hardly be blamed. The chartreuse gentian was a key ingredient in many a potion, and having a local supply would be more cost-effective, not to mention time-saving.

The left corner of his mouth quirked upward. 'Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. And if I'm successful, you are more than welcome to come to the Manor and experience it firsthand.'

She smiled, noncommittally, though she wanted more than anything to say yes. And not just to be around the chartreuse gentian. Confound it all, but she found Malfoy intriguing. Maybe she could agree and say she had to for her job. Before she could formulate the best way to frame her reply, Malfoy nodded to someone over her shoulder.

'Valentin, it's great to see you here. I was worried you wouldn't be able to make it.'

Valentin?!

Hermione cursed under her breath. She'd been so caught up in her discussion with Malfoy that she'd forgotten why she was here in the first place. And how did Malfoy know this bad man? For some reason, this bothered her more than her own inattentiveness.

Hermione plastered a smile on her face and turned around. So this was the elusive Mr. Marchand. The criminal in question was only slightly taller than her, but he projected an aura of great confidence. He was a handsome man, she had to admit, with thick black hair that was starting to grey at the temples. On his arm was a gorgeous blonde, though she looked at least twenty years younger than him. Hermione couldn't decide between the two who looked more elegant—the Cradle Robber or the Gold Digger.

'And who is this lovely vision, Draco?' Valentin asked in slightly accented English. 'Is she one of your former school mates?'

'Actually, this is—

Hermione thrust her hand towards Valentin. 'Felicia Crookshanks. And you are?'

Malfoy coughed. 'My apologies. Miss…Crookshanks, let me to introduce you to Valentin Marchand. And this is, Gabrielle Deschamps. She doesn't speak English, and since you _clearly_ don't speak French, allow me to translate.' Malfoy dutifully turned to the blonde and repeated the introductions in unerring French.

Gabrielle unleashed an icy smile at Hermione as she left Marchand and tucked her hand into the crook of Malfoy's elbow.

Ah, the gorgeous, elegant blonde was with Malfoy. Hermione's cheeks burned, and she prayed that the heat did not travel down her neck and to her chest, which, due to her insanely sexy dress, were on display.

'How do you two know each other?' Valentin asked.

Malfoy looked at her expectantly. Hermione said the first thing that came to her mind, hoping that Marchand wasn't familiar enough with the Malfoy family to realize how implausible her lie really was.

'Oh, Draco and I go way back. Old family friends.' Again, Malfoy translated for Gabrielle.

'And how do you know Draco?' Hermione asked Valentin.

'Through business.'

Before Hermione could inquire further into what exactly that business entailed (though she imagined it was nothing so innocent as chartreuse gentian blossoms), Marchand excused himself. 'Now that I've delivered Ms. Deschamps to you, I must go and speak with Mademoiselle Petit, or I will never hear the end of it. But make sure you see me before you leave. I have some things I need to discuss with you.' He turned to Gabrielle and rattled off something in French, then in English he said to Hermione, 'It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Crookshanks.'

'The pleasure is mine,' she said, smiling sweetly.

With Marchand gone, it became astonishingly clear to Hermione that she was the third wheel to the beautiful Malfoy and Gabrielle bicycle. Determined to get away as quickly as possible, she said something about needing some air, muttered her goodbyes, and left without looking back.

Who cared that Malfoy was hot? Or that his girlfriend looked like a Victoria's Secret model? Or that this stupid snake charmer had prevented her from properly doing her job? Certainly not her! But damn, damn, damn! And sobriety be damned too! She grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter then exited through a pair of French doors onto the balcony.

The cool air had some bite to it, but Hermione welcomed it on her overheated skin. She downed one glass right after the other and took a few shaky breaths.

How foolish she'd been! Malfoy's flirtatious overtures had been nothing more than a distraction from his nefarious dealings with Marchand. They'd never gotten along, let alone were friendly to each other. How stupid did she have to be to think things could be different between them? This was just another instance of him trying to make her feel stupid and small, and she fell for it like a complete idiot.

But now wasn't the time to lick her wounds.

Hermione hid herself as best she could behind a tall potted shrub. Taking a quick glance around and seeing no one, she still cast a Muffliato before speaking. Running her finger along one of her earrings, she uttered an incantation, turning it into a communication device. 'Phelps?'

'I have eyes on your location, so just move your head to indicate your answers. Is Marchand there?'

Hermione tipped her head forward slightly.

'Good, good. Did you get close enough to see his face?'

She nodded again, touching her finger to her temple. Once her memory was retrieved not only would her boss be able to say that Marchand was at the ball, he'd also be able to witness her amateur attempts at flirting with Malfoy. Stupid, handsome Malfoy who dated stupid, beautiful girls who were fluent in French. And who was no doubt engaged in shady business deals with Marchand. Hermione ground her teeth together, determined to focus on that last bit. She could still salvage this night; she just needed to catch them in the act.

'Granger? Do you copy?' Phelps said loudly in her ear.

'Sorry, please repeat.'

'We have all we need, so that's enough for tonight. Nod if you acknowledge.'

Hermione absolutely did not nod her head. 'You wanted me to catch him in the act.'

'There's been a change in plans.'

'But I've identified the buyer.'

'Again, there has been a change in plans. Do not engage. I'll explain-.'

Hermione whispered the spell again, thus ending the communication with Phelps.

Taking another fortifying breath, she went back into the ballroom, trying to stay as close to the wall as possible. She could not find Marchand, but she quickly spotted Malfoy—not a difficult feat as he was floating across the dance floor with his bimbo in his arms. Their blond hair shone as the fairy lights twinkled around them. The other dancing couples seemed to acknowledge how perfectly they looked together, giving them ample room to sparkle and shine in the very center of the room. It made her want to puke. Unfortunately, because she couldn't find Marchand and, therefore, had to keep an eye on Malfoy, she couldn't look away.

Hermione knew she was being ridiculous about this. After all, she didn't even really know Malfoy. A few flattering comments from a handsome wizard and she'd been willing to dismiss years of animosity. Was she really that vain and shallow? And why was she so bothered by Malfoy's lack of interest?

She still hadn't come up with any answers when they had stopped dancing. Thankfully, she was given a reprieve from her thoughts by Malfoy's leaving the dance floor. Escorting his girlfriend to a table, he whispered something in her ear, then headed toward the ballroom's exit.

Keeping an eye out for Marchand and a safe distance from Malfoy, Hermione followed the pale head of hair through the crowd. She maneuvered her way down the main staircase and exited the building roughly a minute after Malfoy.

Hermione found herself in an insanely large courtyard, hemmed in on three sides by the arms of the U-shaped building she had just left. High above a full moon gleamed overhead, illuminating the immaculately kept grounds and the immense fountain bubbling in the center. A quick glance told her that Malfoy had decided to stay close to the building rather than venture out into the open space.

She saw a flicker of movement on the right side of her vision, so she clung to the shadows of the building as she headed over in that direction. She'd started walking up the right arm of the U-shaped building and had passed a rather provocative life-sized statue of a Veela when she was yanked behind said statue and into a warm and very firm chest.

Before she could even yelp, her mouth was covered by her assailant. Although she was not thrown against the wall, the material of the building pushed uncomfortably into her back. She assumed her attacker was Malfoy, but the relief she felt when she met his grey eyes was palpable.

The reprieve did not last long. Malfoy looked furious. 'Why are you following me?' he hissed. He uncovered her mouth, but then had the audacity to pin her arms to the wall.

'Why does it matter? Are you doing something you shouldn't be? Besides manhandling me.'

'Always so damned nosy. One of these days it's going to get you in trouble.'

'Is that a threat, because if it is I'm not scared of you?' And that part was true; she wasn't afraid of him. But then, why was her heart racing?

He took a step closer to her, so that his shirt front brushed against the skin of her stomach. 'I'm not the one you should be afraid of.'

Her brain had lost its ability to speak. But then any speech was taken away from her when Malfoy cast a Silencio, muttering the incantation so close to her she could feel the words exhaled against her neck. So softly that she almost couldn't hear him, he whispered, 'This isn't a joke, Granger. It's time for you to go back inside.' But he made no move to let her leave.

Her head had fallen back against the wall, and she had just closed her eyes when someone cleared their throat a few feet behind them.

Hermione caught a glance of Marchand over Malfoy's shoulder, but he moved his face, blocking the bad man from view.

Malfoy's gaze bore into hers as he said, 'I'll only be a moment, Valentin. I have some unfinished business to attend to.'

While Hermione could not see Marchand's face, she assumed he was smiling because he certainly sounded amused when he replied, 'Ah yes, the old family friend. I'll just be over there.'

Marchand's footsteps echoed across the pavement as he walked away from them until Hermione could no longer hear the sound. She was just about to turn her head to see where he went when Malfoy quietly said, 'Don't look at him, look at me.'

He tilted his head to the side, his hair brushing against her face as he spoke into her ear. 'Now stay calm. Finite.'

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' she snapped, struggling futilely to free her arms.

'Conducting a business transaction.'

'In the middle of the night?' she snapped. She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice when she said, 'I thought you had changed.'

'Granger, I don't have time to explain myself to you. Marchand is neither a patient, nor a good man. Go inside, and I will find you later.' He switched to speaking into her other ear, and along the column of her neck, and her collar bone. Hermione pressed her back against the wall, trying not to shiver at what was nothing more than an attempt to get Marchand to think that they were more than old friends.

She opened her mouth to retort, but he moved his hand to her face, cupping her cheek. His lips came perilously close to hers, so close she could have licked any residual champagne away, but alas there was none.

'Trust me. Please.'

It made absolutely no sense, but for some reason she did trust him. 'OK, but you better find me when you're finished.'

Hermione walked back towards the ballroom, forcing herself not to glance over her shoulder. How was she going to explain this to Phelps? First, she'd disobeyed a direct order, and for what? She didn't catch Malfoy and Marchand in an illegal trade. All she had to show for her rebellion was her succumbing to Malfoy's flirtations. Again!

It had been a while since she'd dated anyone, but was she really that starved for male attention that she would take it from a former Death Eater who shook hands with wanted criminals?

Hermione made her way back to the potato croquettes and ate a handful, then worked her way through the other hors d'oeuvres available. From her place at the table, she saw a not so happy Gabrielle, still sitting at the table where Malfoy had left her, arms folded over her chest. Having temporarily forgotten about Malfoy's girlfriend, Hermione grabbed another glass of champagne and quickly downed it.

Deciding it was time to pace herself, Hermione slowly sipped her next glass. She was almost at the end when a loud commotion came from the area of the staircase. She turned to see a handful of men and women, all in French Aurors uniforms, shoving their way down the stairs. Something told her this had to do with Marchand and Malfoy. Suddenly she felt sick. Had she let Marchand get away? And what of Malfoy? Had he disappeared too? Or worse, been attacked? There was nothing to suggest Marchand would turn violent, but who knew what a criminal would resort to when he thought his back was up against the wall.

By the time she elbowed her way through the crowd, she saw that the staircase had been cleared. Stationed on the top step was a wizard preventing anyone from exiting the building from that direction. He was dressed as one of the servers, and Hermione assumed he had been stationed there by the Aurors.

As Hermione approached, he held up his hand. 'You cannot pass.' Or at least that's what she thought he said, since it was spoken in French.

'You don't understand. I'm with the British Ministry of Magic.'

The man answered back in heavily accented English. 'I don't care if you are the British Minister of Magic himself. You do not have permission to go this way.'

This was likely to go nowhere. Hermione turned and walked over to a less populated area of the hall, biding her time till nearly everyone had cleared out and went back into the ballroom. Hiking up her dress, she reached for the holster on her leg. With the coast clear, she walked back towards the staircase guardian, wand in hand.

'Petrificus Totalus,' she said as she approached, then rushed forward to make sure he didn't fall down the stairs. She gently laid him to the ground. 'I'm sorry,' she said, 'But I really need to be out there.'

Hermione raced down the stairs and out into the courtyard. The place was crawling with Aurors, and not just from France. She easily recognized the British uniforms. Switzerland and Germany were represented there too, along with about three other countries she couldn't identify. Unsurprising, really, considering the reach of Marchand's criminal activities.

Hermione quickly scanned the courtyard, but could not find Malfoy anywhere. However, she did see Neville Longbottom not very far from the inappropriate Veela statue by which Malfoy had accosted her earlier. Running over to him, she grabbed him by the arm.

'What's going on?' she demanded.

Neville blinked at her, then schooled his face into a polite smile. 'I'm sorry, do I know you?'

Oh right. She was in disguise. 'It's me. Hermione.'

Neville shook his head, then brushed his hair from his face. 'Oh. Well, why are you here, and why'd you dye your hair?'

'It's for work,' she said, not sure how much she should divulge. 'What's going on? Is there anything I can do to help?'

'You know I'd tell you if I could, Hermione, but I'm not at liberty to say. Sorry,' he ended with a mumble. 'And I hate to do this, but I really need to go.'

She nodded her head in understanding, then watched him walk over to a group of Aurors who were busy taking photographs of what Hermione supposed was the crime scene. Naturally, it was in the area Malfoy had walked off to when she had left him.

Frustration mounting, she stalked over to the Veela statue and hid in the shadows. What could she do? She had no jurisdiction. She had disobeyed her boss's orders. Malfoy was nowhere in sight. Perhaps it was time to go home, hang up her dress, and return to her normal life.

She'd started walking back towards the ballroom when one of the many doors in the side of the building opened.

A British Auror she had seen around the ministry—one of the higher-ranking ones whose name she didn't know—addressed her. 'Ma'am, would you please come in here?'

'Why?'

'There is someone who would like to speak with you.'

'Who is it?' she asked, dreading the answer. If it was Phelps, he would only be reprimanding her. If it was Malfoy, well, he was a captured criminal. There could be nothing between them.

'I'm not at liberty to say.'

Hermione stepped inside and found herself in some kind of ornately furnished dining room. Not as large as the main dining room she was sure. Perhaps this was the breakfast nook for a former wizarding king, though she could have fit two of her apartments inside.

The Auror gestured towards the chairs. 'Please have a seat. It will be just a moment,' he said, then exited through another set of doors.

What was it with the Aurors and their damned secrecy? With a huff, Hermione took a seat. And sat and sat. A moment, her ass. More than half an hour had passed before the Auror returned. She was about to give him a piece of her mind when she saw who followed him.

Malfoy stood before her, still impeccably dressed and handsome as ever, but with his hands bound.

Her relief that he was safe quickly turned to anger. 'I have nothing to say to you,' Hermione said, standing to her feet.

'I'll give you two some privacy then,' the Auror said, turning to leave.

'Thank you, Piven. But before you go, would you be so kind as to unshackle me?'

Hermione laughed in disbelief. Gods, Malfoy was deluded if he thought a polite request would release him from the consequences of his crimes.

To her shock, Piven walked back over to Malfoy. 'Sorry about that, mate.' With a wave of his wand, Malfoy's hands were free and Piven was out the door.

Had Malfoy Imperiused the guard? Hermione gripped her wand tighter, trying to figure out what was going on.

'Forgive me for taking so long to get back to you. I was unavoidably detained. But you have my full attention now. Where were we?'

He advanced toward her, cupping her cheek again. But this time Hermione had her wits about her.

She slapped the offending appendage away. 'Unhand me, you, you...'

Malfoy took a step back, eyes narrowing. 'Why are you so angry? Is this about that girl?' He let out a chuckle. 'You're jealous, aren't you?'

Hermione scoffed. 'Of course not. To be jealous I would first have to care.'

'I think I can say with all confidence that you do care. Very much.'

Hermione thrust out her wand, pointing it at his chest. 'Do not take one step closer.'

'Granger, you are overreacting. Per usual.'

'You're right about one thing. I do care very much—about seeing you punished for your crimes!'

All the anxiety and high emotions of the night seemed to bubble over and out of her mouth. She paced the floor, gesticulating wildly with her hands, lighting up the room with bursts of uncontrolled magic. 'I can't believe you?! "Trust me," you said! "Please," you begged! And I did! You gave up all that hard work, and for what? Some deal with a criminal to earn more illicit money? I should have known the chartreuse gentian was a ruse.' She finally stopped pacing and pointed her wand at him again. 'Well? What do you have to say for yourself?'

'I don't see the point as you seem to have everything figured out.'

'Try me.'

'It's not what you think.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Naturally.'

Malfoy glared at her. 'Why are you so determined to think the worst of me?'

'You expect me to believe that you have a business deal with Valentin Marchand, and it's all above board. I'll have you know—'

Hermione pressed her lips together until they turned white. She nearly shared classified information. Even if the case seemed at an end, it was not for her to speak about such things.

'Yes, Granger? What exactly do you know about Valentin Marchand?'

'Nothing. But I've given you enough of my time. I need to go.'

This time he held up his hand, placing it on her shoulder when she did not move. 'I'm going to assume that you were here for the same reason I was, to catch Marchand.'

'Says the man who was led in here in handcuffs.'

'They said it would be best if Marchand believed I was in trouble too, so we were both held under arrest in the same room, which just happened to be behind that ridiculous Veela statue. By some strange coincidence, when Potter saw you through the window pouting by the statue, he suggested Marchand and I be separated to divide and conquer, as it were.'

'Harry's here?'

'That's not the point. Before I was led out of the room, Potter gave orders to take Marchand to the station, while he directed Piven to send me to this room for further questioning. But since I didn't do anything wrong, there was no further questioning.'

'Even if I were to believe you, and that is by no means the case, don't you think my superiors would have told me about your involvement?'

'I'm not working for the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Potter called in a favor for the DMLE. It seems Marchand had acquired an object that used to belong to my family, and Potter thought it would make sense for me to buy it back. However, you nearly ruined that transaction. When Potter saw you and me by the Veela statue, he almost called everything off.'

Harry saw them almost kissing?! Hermione shook her head, trying to focus. 'Why wasn't I told about this deal?'

'That sounds like a question you should be asking Potter. But I wouldn't be surprised if the DMLE and DIMC weren't sharing information. Interdepartmental communication is and has always been crap.'

'I wouldn't know.'

'Hermione Granger doesn't know something? Somehow I find that hard to believe. In fact, I think you know a lot more than you are letting on. Were you here undercover as well?'

Hermione shrugged. 'What I am doing here is my own business.'

'Well, if you are trying to go unseen, perhaps tell the idiots who dressed you not to make you so bloody beautiful next time. I noticed you the moment I walked into the room. If I were dressing you…' he trailed off, moving his hand from her shoulder down the length of her arm, then laced their fingers together.

Hermione clenched her jaw, trying not to smile. Unfortunately, she couldn't keep the blush from showing up on her skin. She looked down and to her mortification, she was pink to the top of her belly button.

'Do you wish to go outside? You look a little flushed.' His words of compassion and concern where undermined by the devilish smirk he gave her.

Not waiting for an answer, he tucked her hand in his elbow and escorted her outside.

In the hour or so since Marchand was arrested, the area had calmed down considerably. The courtyard was still closed off to the ball's attendees, but the number of Aurors milling about had significantly decreased.

The wandered silently towards the fountain. Hermione peered into the clear water, trying to calm herself by counting the coins that lay at the bottom.

'You've become unusually quiet,' Malfoy remarked.

'I'm just thinking.'

It was true, though she would never admit that every single one of her thoughts was saturated with Draco Malfoy. He had overloaded and short-circuited her most powerful weapon (a.k.a. her brain) with his charm and good looks. And to find out that he wasn't a criminal, but a good guy. Well, she didn't know how to process that information. One thing that was abundantly clear was that she and Malfoy were on the verge of something, but she could not figure out if it that something was disastrous or delightful.

He stepped closer. The light scent of his aftershave wafted towards hers, and she breathed in his scent deeply. How was it possible that a man could smell this good?

'I should have known. Anything you wish to discuss?'

'Gabrielle,' Hermione blurted out. It would seem her brain wasn't completely broken.

Malfoy's brows drew together before comprehension dawned on his face. 'Right, Gabrielle. She's just a date, not my girlfriend. And as you can see, she didn't leave much of an impression. You on the other hand…'

Hermione shook her head, coming to a decision. 'It doesn't matter.' She closed her eyes, took a step back, and laughed. 'That was a close call.'

'What are you talking about?'

'What are we doing here, Malfoy?'

'I typically keep these things to myself, but I had hoped to kiss you and see where it would go from there.'

'But don't you see, that isn't normal!?'

'I can't say I follow. You're a woman. I'm a man. There is obvious physical attraction between us in addition to all the other kinds of attraction we share. There is no other word to describe this _but_ normal.'

What other kinds of attraction did he think they shared? And how long had he thought this way?

Hermione blinked. 'I meant to say normal for us. This isn't normal _for us_!'

'Who is to say what is and is not normal between us?'

'We've always hated each other, and now we're on the verge of kissing?!'

'Yes, by my count, twice in just the last hour. What's your point?'

'This attraction we feel towards each other, it's not real. I mean, look at us!' She stepped back, gestured toward his clothes, then hers. 'You don't normally look like a male model, and I certainly don't look like this. I don't even have my own hair and eye color!'

'You think I look like a male model?'

'My point is, our attraction is just a result of the atmosphere and the sense of danger playing with us.' She waved toward the full moon in the sky. 'Even the sky is conspiring against us, filling our heads with romance!'

'And here I thought it was our undeniable chemistry finally bubbling over, instead of being stymied by things like my prejudice and your self-righteousness.'

'If you ran into me on the streets, do you honestly think this would have happened? Don't answer; I already know the answer is no, because I've seen you numerous times in the Ministry and Diagon Alley, and you've not said one word to me. Face it, Malfoy. You wouldn't have given me a second glance if I weren't all dressed up. And if you hadn't looked so unbelievable,' she stopped, not wanting to go on another tangent about Malfoy's good looks. 'We fell under a spell, and tomorrow we will go back to hating each other.'

'I've never hated you.'

'You know what I mean.'

Hermione waited for him to argue with her. _That_ would have been normal for them. But instead he smiled at her—a genuine and lovely smile, full of even, pearly teeth that her parents would have admired. 'Perhaps you're right.'

Malfoy lifted her hand towards his mouth. Turning it over, he kissed her inner wrist. And then he did it again, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on hers. The moonlight illuminated his pale hair, which fell into his beautiful grey eyes. Gods, he was so handsome and dashing.

'As always, it's been a pleasure. Have a good evening, Miss Crookshanks.'

Hermione pressed her trembling hand against her stomach as he walked away.

Of course _now_ was when he finally decided to agree with her. Swallowing her regret and his name on her tip of her tongue, she watched him disappear into the building.

It was for the best. Right?

* * *

Hermione rubbed her eyes, waiting for the numbers and letters to settle on the page before her. It had been a week since her excursion in France. Apart from a very stern reprimand from Phelps, the only punishment she'd received for disobeying orders was having to deal with all the paperwork for both the DMLE and DIMC relating to Marchand's arrest. And not just from her own ministry. She was also in charge of sorting the data from all the International Ministries as well.

Malfoy had been right. Interdepartmental communication was crap.

There was another subject on which Malfoy had probably been right, but Hermione didn't allow herself to dwell on it. There was no time for it.

With a sigh, she looked at her desk. The stacks of scrolls seemed never ending, but they wouldn't get smaller by her staring at them. Good thing she liked organizing and summarizing information. She grabbed the one nearest here, and got to work.

Over two hours later, someone knocked on her door. She had achieved such a groove, she was tempted to ignore it. But for now, she had to be on her best behavior.

'Come in,' she said, not bothering to look up.

Whoever it was didn't say anything. She assumed they were collecting their thoughts and would speak when they were ready, but after a minute or so, curiosity got the better of her and she tore her focus away from her work.

'Draco?!'

'I was wondering when you'd notice me.'

'What are you doing here?'

'Just wanted to check in on an old family friend.'

An old family friend? Oh. That's right. Hermione waved at the name plate on her desk. 'As you can see, there is no Miss Crookshanks here. Just Hermione Granger.'

'That's fortunate, as I have some business I'd like to discuss with her.'

Hermione twirled her pen in her fingers, trying to avoid Malfoy's gaze. 'I hate to break it to you, but there are currently no openings for the position of dressing me.'

'I'm confident that one will open up very soon, and until then I can wait. In the meanwhile, I have found yet another way to diversify my skillset.' Malfoy moved his hands from behind his back, revealing a small yellow-flowered plant.

Hermione shot up from her seat. 'Chartreuse gentian! You did it!' She ran around her desk, stopping just short of running into Malfoy. He handed the plant to her, and she cradled it close to her chest.

'I love it! Thank you so much!'

'I finalized the deal the day after I mentioned it to you. You have a standing invitation to visit Malfoy Manor, and see how my skills as a farmer progress.'

'I'd very much like to see that.'

Malfoy gestured to the scrolls on her desk. 'So this is what you do on a typical work day?'

'More or less, though it's usually less. I may have been punished for disobeying orders when we were in France.'

'A Gryffindor breaking the rules. Who would have thought?'

'I wouldn't have broken the rules if you hadn't been there.'

'I don't know if you are aware of this, Hermione, but I do have a way of bringing out the best in you.' He smirked, and in a low voice added, 'You can thank me later.'

The sound of her name in his mouth produced a tingling sensation all over her body. When she realized she was just standing there smiling at him, Hermione asked, 'Was there any other business you wished to discuss with me?'

'Actually, I did have one last thing. How are your shoes?'

'My shoes?' Hermione raised her robes a few inches off the ground to examine her plain black flats. 'They give me adequate arch support and are pretty comfortable. So they're good…I guess. Why do you ask?'

'Just making sure that your feet are firmly planted on the ground. I've also observed that your robes are the epitome of everything that is prim and proper.'

Hermione looked down at her robes, frowning at the wrinkles and ink spots she found. 'OK…Malfoy, what is the point of all this?'

'As you can see, I am similarly dressed down.'

He stood before her, resplendent in the finest Twilfitt and Tattings had to offer. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, unimpressed. 'Right.'

'This is what I normally wear, so yes, I am informally attired. Now about your eyes and hair.'

'What's wrong with my eyes and hair?' Her hands went immediately to her head, where she found the quills she had buried earlier. 'Oh.'

Malfoy drew near, and she stood dumbfounded as he began removing the feathers from her hair and setting them on her desk. No longer pinned back, her curls fell around her face. He gently pushed on of the chaotic spirals behind her ear. them, before bringing them to rest at the base of her neck. 'Absolutely nothing. I quite like your eyes and hair. Have for quite some time now.'

Hermione beamed at Malfoy, still confused about what he was doing, but unable to hide her pleasure at his words. 'You have?'

'Yes. I'd also like to point out there is no full moon, and this office lighting is terribly unflattering. All that being said, I think you'll agree that I've successfully established we aren't playing dress up, and we haven't been swept off our feet.'

Perhaps he was speaking for himself. She felt as if she was walking on air. 'I don't understand why you are doing this.'

'You said our feelings for each other that night were merely the product of a highly unusual situation conducive to seduction. I believe your exact words were, "it's not real, and it's not normal."'

'I did say that.'

'And yet, despite being in a cramped, poorly lit office space, dressed in our everyday work clothes and very functional footwear, I want nothing more than to bend you backward over your desk and finish what we started that night. I've thought of nothing else since.'

Hermione blushed, as his eyes were telegraphing those thoughts quite plainly. 'Me too. Well, maybe not in so explicit a fashion, but I've been kicking myself for pushing you away. It was rather stupid of me.'

'I agree.'

'To be fair, there were a lot of questions I had to answer and decisions I had to make.'

'And have you?'

'I think so, yes.'

'Good. I've made up my mind as well.'

He took the plant she still held in her hands and gently set it on the corner of her desk. Pulling out his wand, he levitated the scrolls and settled them on the floor, careful to keep them in their respective piles. Putting his hands on her waist, he lifted her up and placed her on the desk.

'You still look like a male model,' she said, brushing his hair from his eyes.

'That can't be helped,' he said, then shut her up with a kiss.

He was perfection, and so was this—even with the bad lighting, frumpy clothes, and boring shoes. If anything, it made it that much better. Hermione sighed into his mouth. Grabbing him by the lapels of his every day clothes, she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. Her sensible robes provided no impediment as she moved her legs around him, locking her flats, with their adequate arch support, easily behind him.

Much, much too soon Draco pulled away.

'I should warn you, this will happen again.'

No kidding! Greedily she sought his mouth again. When he placed his finger on her lips, she groaned.

'To be clear, Hermione, this-' he kissed briefly, then pulled away to look her in the eyes, '-is our new normal. Agreed?'

Hermione couldn't even remember their old normal, nor did she want to since this new thing between them was so mind-blowingly fantastic. Indeed, Hermione was beginning to wonder how the old normal ever came into existence when happiness like this had been available to them the whole time.

But her heart was too full to say any of that.

'Agreed.'

* * *

The End

* * *

Author's Note:

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed (and review). :D

The dress Hermione is wearing is the same one that Sarah Paulson wore to the 2016 Emmy Awards. And the gold that Malfoy would outfit Hermione in would look like the dress Claire Danes wore to the same awards show, minus the fake tan.

I think the French Malfoy speaks can be translated to, 'Oh, I think not, Miss Granger.' At least that's what I meant for it to say. If it doesn't, blame Google Translate. Edited to add: thank you, Caleolin, for correcting my French.


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